


Feels Like Love

by Yusuke (foxjar)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Kurusu Akira, First Time, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Kurusu Akira/Original Male Character(s), Post-Canon, Prostitution, Romance, Sexual Content, Top Kitagawa Yusuke, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/Yusuke
Summary: When Yusuke comes across a scene he was never meant to see — Akira pleasuring a stranger in their dorm room — he takes matters into his own hands to prevent it from ever happening again.





	Feels Like Love

**Author's Note:**

> For [seasonofkink](https://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/) on Dreamwidth! I started with the following prompts in mind: prostitution/sex work, first time, emotion play/jealousy. 
> 
> This takes place at least a year after the end of the game, so they're at least 18/19.

Akira did buy an air conditioner, after all, although it took him a few years and a move to their college dorm to do it. Yusuke thinks of the chill it must be emanating back in the dorm room while he is caged in by dozens of commuters on the subway. Just a few more stops, and he will be free to suck in that frigid air.

It has been two years since Yusuke first met Akira and the other ex-Phantom Thieves; two years since he first slept in Akira’s room. He never forgot how safe he felt with Akira not only being kind enough to let him stay in his room, but also watching over him as he slept. Now, he is able to feel that security everyday after Akira decided Yusuke was worthy enough to live in the same room with him. Perhaps he felt bad, since everyone else had chosen roommates by that point, or maybe he had no choice, with Ryuji commuting from his mother’s house for college. Either way, Yusuke is grateful for the opportunity to remain by Akira’s side in such an intimate manner.

Their dorm room is small, but having a bunk bed set up saves a lot of space. Along the back wall are floor to ceiling windows, and Yusuke has one of his easels set up there to face the view of bustling Tokyo. Akira sleeps on the bottom bunk of the bed, and sometimes Yusuke will turn the easel toward him — the wooden base screeching against the floor ever so slightly — to draw him as he sleeps. Approaching people to ask them to model for him used to be so easy, but with Akira, an air of complication seems to shroud him now. For whatever reason, that tightly wound thing in his chest refuses to even ask. So for now, this is his little secret.

He can almost taste the cold air as he arrives at their shared dorm room; can almost see Akira’s smile as he looks up from working on his homework to greet him.

 _Like he’s happy to see me_ , Yusuke thinks, and he wishes he could capture that smile with paint. He would be able to show Akira that, even when he frowns, there is beauty on his face; in his eyes, his cheeks, his lips.

There is little beauty in what he sees once he steps into the bedroom. Akira is kneeling in front of their shared bunk bed, his mouth wrapped around the erection of a man Yusuke has never seen before. His head bobs around the man’s length, licking and sucking as the stranger pulls at his dark, curly hair.

Yusuke uses his hands to frame the scene — for future use in his artwork, perhaps, if only he could find a way to express that loud, obnoxious suction sound. It hurts his head — hurts his heart, too — and he imagines the sounds as waves of chalky blue, reaching for red.

Akira is red, always red. He cannot quite place the blue.

“Looks like we have a voyeur,” the intruder says, his voice gruff with all sorts of emotions Yusuke does not wish to think about. “He’s cute. Friend of yours?”

The expression on Akira’s face when he looks at Yusuke, with half of that cock still in his mouth, is beautiful, in a tragic way. He immediately pulls away, choking on a mix of his own saliva and pre-come. Yusuke sees some of it dribble down his chin as he gasps, and Akira still looks so elegant to him, despite the lewdness of his face.

“He as perverted as you?” the man asks, thrusting his hips a bit. “I want him.”

Akira’s eyes snap back to their guest, his hands smoothing up his bare chest as he pulls the man’s attention away from Yusuke.

“He’s not for sale,” Akira says, his voice flat with irritation.

“I’ll pay double.”

There is something happening here that Yusuke cannot quite put his finger on; some sort of transaction, and he himself is the product. He has never wanted to leave the little home he built here with Akira so badly, so he turns around to do just that. The world feels strange and unfamiliar now, as if he has stepped into the throes of the Metaverse once again. These are the same halls he always walks on his way to and from home, but they no longer feel like they belong to him.

Yusuke takes the subway to Inokashira Park, a decision that, in retrospect, might have been poor. The cool breeze from the pond reminds him of the time he spent with Akira here, searching for artistic inspiration. It took him longer than he likes to acknowledge that all the motivation he needs for his art has been right in front of him the whole time.

He does not know when he should return to the dorm. Or maybe he is not welcome back; maybe that man is Akira’s new roommate. Yusuke has so many questions, but he worries how the answers might affect his ability to draw. Emotional pain has always inspired him to create, but whatever is causing his chest to clench so tightly is just making him want to sleep.

People often confuse Yusuke; their desires and the ways they choose to act upon them. Unlike most other people, Akira always seemed so clear, and despite what he saw earlier in the dorm room, he believes he still knows his friend. Nothing has changed that, even if he is shaken up from the ordeal.

He makes his way home late in the evening, catching one of the last trains back. The last thing he wants to do is worry Akira, but when he walks into the dorm room, he sees he has failed.

Akira is sitting on the lower bunk of the bed, clutching his knees to his chest as he seems to stare off into nothing. Yusuke has to clear his throat a few times to grab his attention, at which Akira stumbles from the bed. He reaches a hand out toward him, his eyes bright and pleading, but pulls it back before it can make contact.

“You’re back,” he says. “I was worried. You didn’t answer any of my texts.”

Yusuke’s phone must have died at some point during the day, and he never thought to check. He does not explain himself to Akira, and instead nods as he sets his book bag down beside the bed. Words could not hope to chip away at whatever is between them, at least not right now, so he grabs some clean clothes for a shower.

When he returns, freshly washed and ready to lie down for the evening, Akira is sitting at his computer, the keyboard clacking as he types. Yusuke climbs up to the top bunk and stares at the ceiling; if he does not focus too much on any one area, he can almost see shapes forming on the blank canvas.

“I’m sorry,” Akira says, his voice so quiet that Yusuke almost thinks he might be imagining it. “He offered good money, but he couldn’t...host.”

Yusuke rolls over to face him. “‘Host?’ What is being hosted?”

Akira’s lips quiver for a few moments, his tongue running over his teeth as he searches for words. “Sex, Yusuke.”

“Ah. I see.” Yusuke nods, thinking of the instances of sexual intercourse that he has seen in art. “And this… ‘sex.’ You do this often?”

“Just when I need the money. Or when you…”

“When I what?” Yusuke’s chest clenches at the thought that anything he does could be promoting such behavior.

“When you need something, or you can’t pay rent, or…”

“So you’re selling your body to filthy old men because of me?”

Akira flinches at the accusation. He did not mean it as an insult, just a fact, as the man from before had seemed repulsive and quite old.

“Is he coming back? That one?” He remembers the way he looked at him — hungry and selfish — and the way he pulled Akira’s hair. “I don’t like him.”

 _I don’t like the way he talked to you_ , Yusuke thinks. _The way he used you._

“No, I won’t bring him back. I’m sorry.”

“How about you treat me to dinner as an apology?” Yusuke’s heart races at the thought of a delicious, filling meal right now. He has not eaten since dinner last night, as his classes kept his full attention. But then he thinks of where Akira receives his money from — men who use him and hurt him in any way they please — and nausea rises in his throat. “Actually, I’m not very hungry.”

After Yusuke rolls back over to face the wall, the clacking of the keyboard resumes. The repetition almost lulls him to sleep, but his chest hurts too much. When he feels like this, he often ends up painting or creating in some way, but that is the last thing he wants to do now.

He sits up, clearing his throat before he asks, “How much is it that you charge?”

“Yusuke.” Akira sighs, and he can tell that he is biding his time; hoping Yusuke will cut him off again. But this is not something he is willing to gloss over.

Finally, voice full of defeat, Akira says, “Ten-thousand yen per hour.”

“That’s a lot of food. Not many art supplies, though.”

“Try not to think about it. Please.”

Akira’s request makes him think about it even more. A thought comes to mind — something he cannot shake off — and, like with his artwork, he feels determined to see it through to the end.

Yusuke is half asleep, fantasizing about how different things could be, when Akira speaks again.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

There is shame in his voice. Embarrassment.

“Tell them what?”

Akira sighs again, this time with a wheeze of relief. “Thank you.”

* * *

With the dorm room vacant of strange men, Yusuke is able to paint again. He opens up the curtains and turns his easel to face the afternoon sun as his stomach gurgles at him. It implores him to eat — anything — but he resists the urge. While he has never eaten well, especially not when inspiration strikes him, he has been eating far less as of late. Even Akira notices now, and Yusuke does not know what to say when he begs him to eat.

He could tell the truth — that he is trying to save as much money as possible so Akira will no longer have to debase himself with such raunchy activities to support them. But he does not want to disappoint him if he fails, and he does not want Akira ask him to stop. If he asked, Yusuke thinks he might cave at his friend’s request, and then they would be back at square one.

Akira does not know that Yusuke has been selling his paintings, either. The piece he is working on now is yet another he intends to sell, no matter how loath he is to part with it. Every piece of artwork he creates is a part of him; an amalgamation of everything he has ever felt, and everything he hopes to one day experience.

To Yusuke, Akira means even more than that. He is worth every ounce of pain and frustration that he feels when he parts with another painting. After a while, he stopped keeping track, and by now, he has forgotten how many he has sold; how much of his love he has funneled into cash.

When he finishes his current painting — the lower portion of the canvas a bleak depiction of night, and the upper half a promising sunrise — he is able to sell it for a hefty sum. He worries about how much he needs to convince Akira to stop; about how much of a down payment will satisfy him.

Every time Akira comes home late — reeking of smoke and sweat — is another chip in Yusuke’s resolve until finally, one day, he hands him the envelope with all of his earnings thus far. His hands are shaking as Akira looks at him warily before opening the envelope to count the money: thirty bills of ten-thousand yen each.

“I don’t understand,” he says, his voice hoarse. Yusuke tries not to think about the cause. “What’s this for?

“You said you charge ten-thousand per hour, so that should cover a little over a day,” Yusuke explains, clenching his fists at his sides. “Just please don’t let them touch you again. I’ll get more money, just give me some time. Please.”

Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders, crushing him against his chest. For a moment, Yusuke forgets to breathe, even as the hunger in his stomach gnaws at him. Although he is no stranger to Akira’s hugs, this one feels different; grateful and longing, all at once, as he clutches at the back of his shirt.

When Akira pulls away, he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m gonna take a shower, okay? I’ll be right back.”

After he hears the water turn on in the bathroom, Yusuke tucks the envelope of money in the desk drawer. The implications the money holds — everything he did to acquire it, as well as his reasoning behind it — weigh heavy, despite the pleasant ring of his success. For once, instead of wanting to express himself through painting, he just wants to hold Akira in his arms again.

When Akira returns from his shower, Yusuke is dozing off in his bunk. It is Akira’s voice that pulls him back from the precipice, asking him to come down so they can talk. Although he is not sure just how much he will be able to add to the conversation, as he is still groggy from sleep, he climbs down to the floor, anyways.

Akira scoots up next to the wall, bundled up in his comforter as he pats the space next to him. He looks so safe and warm, all tucked in like that; his eyes clear as he watches Yusuke’s every movement. After he crawls into bed, joining Akira beneath his generous bundle of blankets, he closes his eyes. His heartbeat is so loud, and when Akira touches his neck, he is sure he can feel it now.

Something soft presses against his arm, and Yusuke shudders; it is Akira’s bare chest. Akira hooks a leg over Yusuke’s hips before twisting his body onto him, leaning forward to bump their foreheads together. He grabs Yusuke’s shaking hands and places them on his hips — his hips devoid of clothing.

When Akira kisses him, he cannot help but keep his eyes open. Having someone else so close to him does not make him nervous, like he always imagined it would; instead, his breath catches in his throat as their mouths move together.

“It’s better if you close your eyes,” Akira says after he pulls away. He runs his fingers across Yusuke’s face; a gentle touch along his cheeks.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

Akira smiles. “I guess I can’t really stop you.”

The more they kiss, the harder Akira holds onto him, and the more Yusuke gasps. Each touch is new and exhilarating, but beneath Akira’s experienced hands, he feels the comfort of safety. He was jealous of all of the men Akira slept with — all of the people who were able to touch him, like he never thought he would be able to — but now, with his skilled hands unbuttoning his shirt, he thinks otherwise.

Each of those experiences were able to bring them closer together, one step at a time. Even if it took years, the result is better than Yusuke ever could have imagined.

Akira kisses down his chest, and each time his lips meet his skin, Yusuke has to hold in a gasp. When his belt is unfastened and his pants are pulled down agonizingly slow, he grabs onto Akira’s shoulders, so smooth beneath his hands.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Akira asks, straddling his hips again. “Let me take care of you.”

“I didn’t, ah, get the money so you would feel indebted to me.”

“I know.” Akira is gripping his length now, stroking him slowly as he bucks his hips into the touch. “But I have no reason to hold back now, do I?”

Yusuke licks his lips, staring into those sultry, gray eyes. “No. You do not.”

“I prepared myself in the bathroom,” Akira explains as he rolls a condom onto Yusuke’s erection. “Although you are bigger than I’m used to, so it might be a little harder.”

It is not meant as a compliment, but it fills him with a sense of pride, regardless. The fact that he is different — something unlike all of Akira’s previous partners — makes him pull him down into a sloppy kiss.

When Akira lowers his hips onto him, holding his cock steady with one hand, a guttural sound tears out of Yusuke’s throat. He grabs onto his hips, squeezing the soft skin there as he moans.

“How are you feeling?” Akira asks, his voice low but much more in control than Yusuke feels.

“Indescribable,” Yusuke pants, kneading the flesh in his hands. “You’re so tight, and — why are you moving like that?”

Akira is rolling his hips, searching for a rhythm amidst the sweat and heat. He smiles again; a light smirk in between his gasps for air.

“It’s kind of how sex goes, Yusuke.”

“Yes, but if you keep going like that, I’ll —”

One of Akira’s hands smooths its way up his chest as he rides him, the other rubbing at his own cock. ’“You can come.”

Even if Akira had not allowed him, Yusuke would have come, anyways. He thrusts his hips up into that tight heat, his legs trembling as he releases.

“What a shameful display,” he says once the high starts to wear off. “Such a lack of resolve, I —”

Akira leans over him, moaning into his mouth as they kiss. “We have all the time in the world to work on your endurance. You were great.”

Yusuke gestures to Akira’s erection, still hard between them. “Your body begs to differ.”

“That’s...because I just need a little more stimulation. I’ll go finish in the bathroom.”

When Akira starts to roll off of him, Yusuke holds him in place.

“No, I think you’ll finish right here,” he says, kissing him again as Akira shudders. When he touches Akira’s cock, the tip is wet with pre-come. He cannot remember the last time he touched himself, and despite the unfamiliar feeling of the angle, Akira feels right in his palm. After slicking up his length with pre-come, he starts to stroke him; slow at first, then faster as Akira’s breath hitches.

Yusuke watches as Akira twists his own nipples, pinching them into hardness. He can feel the sweat dripping down his legs now, and an ache begins curling along his wrist. But Akira is worth every second; every time their eyes meet, and every time he gasps.

He is looking into his eyes when Akira comes, moaning Yusuke’s name and smiling, after everything. As Akira rolls off of him, pulling him into a weak kiss before his head hits the pillow, he tries to hold the memory in his mind for later. Not only to paint, but to reminisce, as well.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want me like this,” Akira admits, still struggling a bit for breath. “I’m glad.”

Yusuke kisses the sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead. “I’ll always want you, Akira.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is after Mika's song of the same name. I like thinking about it from Akira's point of view: he knows it's love, while Yusuke might not yet.
> 
> It's still Yusuke's birthday where I live as of posting this, so I'm back-dating it a bit because of AO3's posting timezone. Happy birthday to my favorite lobster lover!
> 
> Here's the conversion rates for the mentioned amounts: ¥10,000 ≈ $91 USD and ¥300,000 ≈ $2,740 USD.


End file.
